uctive. He lived in the open air, under a tree.

_The Reverend Doctor Gaster._
The tree of life. Unquestionably. Till he had tasted the forbidden
fruit.

_Mr Jenkison._
At which period, probably, the organ of constructiveness was added to
his anatomy, as a punishment for his transgression.

_Mr Escot._
There could not have been a more severe one, since the propensity
which has led him to building cities has proved the greatest curse of
his existence.

_Squire Headlong._
(_taking the skull._) _Memento mori._ Come, a bumper of Burgundy.

_Mr Nightshade._
A very classical application, Squire Headlong. The Romans were in the
practice of adhibiting skulls at their banquets, and sometimes little
skeletons of silver, as a silent admonition to the guests to enjoy
life while it lasted.

_The Reverend Doctor Gaster._
Sound doctrine, Mr Nightshade.

_Mr Escot._
I question its soundness. The use of vinous spirit has a tremendous
influence in the deterioration of the human race.

_Mr Foster._
I fear, indeed, it operates as a considerable check to the progress of
the species towards moral and intellectual perfection. Yet many great
men have been of opinion that it exalts the imagination, fires the
genius, accelerates the flow of ideas, and imparts to dispositions
naturally cold and deliberative that enthusiastic sublimation which is
the source of greatness and energy.

_Mr Nightshade._
_Laudibus arguitur vini vinosus Homerus._[5.3]

_Mr Jenkison._
I conceive the use of wine to be always pernicious in excess, but
often useful in moderation: it certainly kills some, but it saves the
lives of others: I find that an occasional glass, taken with judgment
and caution, has a very salutary effect in maintaining that
equilibrium of the system, which it is always my aim to preserve; and
this calm and temperate use of wine was, no doubt, what Homer meant to
inculcate, when he said: _Par de depas oinoio, piein hote thumos
anogoi._[5.4]

_Squire Headlong._
Good. Pass the bottle. (_Un morne silence_). Sir Christopher does not
seem to have raised our spirits. Chromatic, favour us with a specimen
of your vocal powers. Something in point.

Mr Chromatic, without further preface, immediately struck up the
following

SONG

In his last binn Sir Peter lies,
Who knew not what it was to frown:
Death took him mellow, by surprise,
And in his cellar stopped him